


anyone can understand the way i feel

by outruntheavalanche



Series: The Boys of Summer [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Who’s that scout?  The young one,” he says.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Bobby squints at the scouts and shrugs.  “Think he’s with Anaheim, not too sure though,” Bobby says. “Funny name.  French or something.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	anyone can understand the way i feel

**Author's Note:**

> Immediately follows [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/896343).
> 
> I don’t know if a coach would talk this openly with a high school player about his chances of being drafted but this is fiction, so.
> 
> I haven’t finished anything in a while so here you go.
> 
> Randomish title from "Centerfield," by John Fogerty.

For a second, Dean thinks the handsome, dark-haired guy with the piercing blue eyes is another player who’s wandered over from some other dusty Texas town to watch his upcoming opponents, get a bead on them. It happens sometimes, though it’s usually advance scouts, if the school can afford them (which they usually can’t). 

When Dean pauses and sneaks a surreptitious glance in the guy’s direction, he realizes he’s much older than he’d originally thought, with thin lines at the corners of his shocking blue eyes that he’d initially missed. He also seems familiar with the old scouts who welcome him into their group by the chain link fence, like he’s one of them.

Dean nods over to Bobby. “Who’s that scout? The young one,” he says.

Bobby squints at the scouts and shrugs. “Think he’s with Anaheim, not too sure though,” Bobby says. “Funny name. French or something.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He kicks at the dented bucket of baseball with the toe of his sneaker.

“Word is the Angels might be interested in drafting you,” Bobby continues, “but not as a shortstop.”

Dean goes cold all over, like he’s been doused in ice water, and he has to work so hard to keep his emotions in check. Sure, he knew some scouts had taken stock of him, but he’d never thought the interest was genuine. He had always been pretty sure they were there to keep an eye on Sam, who wouldn’t be eligible for the draft for another few years.

Dean's not sure what they—that scout—could possibly see in him anyway. He wasn't spectacular at any one thing, not like Sam who can pitch _and_ hit. Really, the best thing that could be said about Dean is he does everything competently. He isn't going to be a superstar, never was.

“No? Where they gonna put me?” Dean asks, trying to sound practiced, nonchalant. He tugs at the webbing of his glove.

“The outfield, probably,” Bobby grunts, kicking at the bucket of balls, tipping it over. The balls spill onto the dirt and some of them skitter away. “They like your skill-set. Think it plays in center.”

“Huh.” 

Dean looks up again, locks eyes with the young, dark-haired, apparently French scout. The man nods his head to Dean, lifts his hand and tips the brim of an invisible baseball cap to him in greeting. He’s not wearing a wide-brimmed, floppy straw hat like the old scouts that congregate around him. 

His blue eyes are as cool as Dean’s insides feel right now.

Dean wants to look away but finds that he can’t. He cocks a half-smile at the guy and returns the greeting, touching his fingers to the tip of his cap.

The man smiles at him, looks down, clasping a wooden clipboard to his chest. After a few moments, he turns and heads back where he came from.

Dean wonders if he’s done something wrong, wonders if he should have just acted like he hadn’t seen the scouts and gone on like no one was even there. Somehow, though, he feels good about it. 

And he thinks he’ll be seeing that scout again, sometime real soon.


End file.
